One Day Your Prince Will Come
by SlimReaper
Summary: Loki and Taryn, backstory, before After the Fall and Mirrors and Shadows. Based on a dream. Guaranteed to be longer than I wanted it to be. Loki/OC, a brief mention of violence against a woman, then a longer mention of revenge for that, Loki being a BAMF, dancing, magic, fire, and gold stiletto heels. Yeah, I think that about covers it.
1. Loki's tale

**Hey, everyone! This was a dream I had–lovely, lovely Loki dream, sigh–and I had to write it down. If you've read After the Fall and Mirrors and Shadows, this is the same world. Something about lovesick Loki, so desperately wanting and keeping it all invisible because let's face it, his poker face is impenetrable–it just calls to me and is So. Damn. HAMANA. that I cannot stand it! So I had to write out this little flashback. This is obviously set before AtF, and after she's met Thor for the first time. Enjoy!**

**(edited because OMG TYPOS how the CRAPFACTORY did I let so many mistakes get through? The cool night HAIR on his face? *_has huge WTF moment*_ Loki is not Cousin It! I blame working all night and trying to write at 3am... *_hangs head in shame_*)  
**

**.  
**

Loki took a moment to orient himself when he materialized on the quiet residential street, to tug the cuffs of his casual button-down shirt into place and smooth his hair. The Midgardian clothing felt odd but also wonderful, because it meant he was here. The sensations combined into an intoxicating whole–the cool night air on his face, the scents of honeysuckle and wisteria from the nearby gardens, and the sweet anticipation that his quick heartbeat thrummed through his veins.

Tonight he would see her again after far too long. And it didn't matter if it had been six hours or six months–it was always far too long. Asgard held so little for him now, and Midgard so much.

All because of a mortal college professor who had captured his attention one day and had never released him since.

Smiling slightly, he walked along the sidewalk at an easy pace. Yes, he could have teleported himself right to her door, but he liked to savor the anticipation of walking. Liked to watch her house materialize out of the darkness, a mirage made solid by each step bringing him nearer. Liked to listen, because at times she'd leave her windows open to the night air and sing along with her radio and he adored those unintentional serenades. Liked to picture how her face would light up when she saw just who was ringing her doorbell at this late hour.

Liked to imagine a different look on her face, a new glint in her eyes, a curve to her lips that would speak of a feeling beyond friendship. The way she'd blushed when he'd kissed her hand before departing with Thor–he hadn't been able to get that off his mind. Perhaps this time…

Loki turned off the sidewalk and climbed the stairs to her porch, cataloging the changes she'd made since he'd last visited with Thor in tow–two months ago by now, an unbearable eternity. She'd added several plants in brightly colored baskets hanging from the eaves, some kind of flower with petals of a rich, deep purple that was almost black. A new doormat, too, he noticed, a woven rattan thing with animal footprints around the border and a centered inscription which instructed her visitors to "WIPE YOUR PAWS" before entering. He pushed the little glowing button beside the doorframe, smiling now in earnest, and listened to the chime sound within.

Her footsteps pounded to the door and he raised an eyebrow–normally she was light-footed as an elf, but now she stomped like a troll. "Are you really so stupid that you came back for more? You think I won't really call the–" Taryn snarled as she approached the door, but abruptly went silent. He heard the locks turn and the chain slide an instant before she threw the door open. "Loki!" she gasped, startled eyes rising to meet his inquiring gaze. "It's you!"

He gave a little bow. "I certainly hope you were expecting someone else, or I'll have to wrack my brain for how I've wronged you," he replied smoothly, watching her rearrange her face–tucking away absolute fury and replacing it with surprised pleasure and welcome. Truly, she was nearly as adept at hiding her emotions as he was. Only the temper still flashing in those whiskey-dark eyes showed that she hadn't banished her anger from her mind any more than he had banished his curiosity about it. What could've put such a look on her face?

"Oh, Loki, you're the only man I know who has never done anything to piss me off," she laughed, and pulled him into a hug.

"Man?" he teased because in her world he was a god, yet he only felt like one in these moments. Closing his eyes to better savor the feel of her arms around his neck, her body pressed to his, the way she not only endured his embrace but sought it out, always welcoming him with a hug–this was a heaven he had never found in Asgard. She couldn't know that this gesture which was so casual for her to give was so rare for him to receive.

But she trembled in his embrace. He frowned–it wasn't cold. What had happened to her? _The only man who has never done anything to piss me off…_ her words replayed in his mind, this time giving rise to darker suspicions.

She smiled again and pulled away–he let her, his arms aching with the desire not to. "How about the only male, then, oh mighty God of Mischief?"

"I'll allow that," he agreed, tapping her on the nose for making light of his title. She stuck her tongue out at him and led him inside. The click of the door closing behind them, locking out the night, creating a world where he was accepted, never mocked–it was one of his favorite sounds.

He devoured her with his gaze as she led him to the living room. Despite the lateness of the hour, she wasn't wearing her usual casual jeans or pajamas–tonight her curves were hugged in a delicious little green tank-dress that flared at the hip and ended at mid-thigh, and the long, sleek expanse of her legs exposed between that short hem and her strappy gold stilettos made his mouth go dry. A thrill ran through him to see her wearing his colors, even though it didn't mean on Midgard what it would have on Asgard.

But on the heels of that came an icy wave of jealousy that he immediately hid–no woman dressed like this to stay home. And anger followed that, because she _was_ at home, alone and shaken, and Loki couldn't make himself wait any longer to find out what had happened to her. "So, shall we discuss who has offended you and how, so that I may devise the appropriate method of retribution?" His tone was casual, the offer teasing, and he was deadly serious.

She might not know that she was everything he'd ever wanted, or that he waited willing and able to move mountains at her whim, but she had to know at least this much–anyone who hurt her would find themselves dealing with a vengeful god from a pantheon that had little use for mercy or forgiveness. Perhaps he couldn't give her all that he yearned to, but he could at least give her that much.

She turned, caught his hand and squeezed it, smiling up at him as the anger finally bled from her gaze. "You're sweet, Loki," she said, and he mock-shuddered to hide the real shiver her touch provoked.

"Never tell anyone else that. Warrior culture, remember? I'll lose all my cred." An unladylike snort of amusement triggered his laughter in response, but he wasn't letting go of it so easily. "Come, now, I haven't eviscerated anyone is far too long and I fear to lose my skills. I suspect a worthy cause awaits. Tell your god what's happened, my tender little mortal, and let me make it all better," he added, waggling his eyebrows.

She laughed again, music to him, and finally nodded. "All right, as long as you stop calling me your tender little mortal. It makes me feel like dinner."

And oh, but there was a thought guaranteed to return to him in the dark hours he spent alone in his chambers in Asgard, the trigger of a thousand fantasies waiting to enthrall him. "You're stalling," he said, forcing his thoughts back on track and very aware that she had forgotten to release his hand.

Unfortunately, that made her let go and turn away. "Just a stupid man being stupid," she grumbled as she entered her kitchen and started to open a bottle of wine for them to share–something of a tradition when he visited. She would ready the wine while he magicked a fire into being in her fireplace, and they would sit on the thick rug before the dancing flames and talk until either the wine ran out or dawn lit the sky. (And if the bottles often seemed to remain half-full indefinitely and the night stretched far longer than was strictly possible, well, Loki was admitting nothing.)

"Stupid men often are stupid," he agreed, lighting the fire with a wave of his hand and trying not to imagine the worst. "I believe that's usually how they get that particular reputation."

She snorted again. "Well, this guy was very stupid."

"You're drowning me in details," Loki replied dryly. "Oh, my aching brain. Please, mercy, have pity. There's only so many specifics I can absorb at once."

"Smart-ass," she shot back, and then she was back in the living room and handing him a glass of wine. He mock-toasted her in thanks for the insult. But her smile faded as she sank down onto the rug beside him and finally sighed. "Okay, fine. A new professor in the Math department asked me if I'd like to go dancing at this little place he knew–it sounded fun so I agreed. Well, at first I thought he'd stood me up, but he showed up just a little while ago, not only late, but drunk too. The only reason I even answered the door was to show him what he missed out on–" she waved a hand, indicating the sexy dress, her shining red hair, the long legs curled beneath her, as if Loki needed to be reminded of just how desirable she was, "and to tell him to go fuck himself. But as soon as I opened the door…" She glared into the fire as Loki's unoccupied hand clenched into a fist. Her hesitation gave him time to imagine all sorts of horrible things before she finally finished. "Let's just say we had different kinds of dancing in mind."

Loki heard every word she didn't say. "Did he harm you?" The question was gentle, calm, and he felt nothing but wrath and fury. It took a conscious effort to keep his anger from literally shaking the walls. _How dare that insignificant insect even attempt to touch this woman? How dare _any_ mere mortal think they were worthy of sharing her bed?_

"No, no, he didn't get that far," she assured him, waving a hand as if to brush away the incident. "He was too drunk to take a hint but I did get my point across. He's going have a black eye to explain to his students on Monday, and if I'm lucky I broke his nose as well–and you can imagine what these shoes did to his, ahem, gentlemanly region. He'll be limping for a while, that's for damn sure," she said with satisfaction.

Loki had to fight down a snarl of pure rage. He reached out with his magic and found the psychic residue of the events on her porch. He felt the man's lust, saw him grab her, frighten her, try to kiss her, saw her fighting back–

Then Taryn met his eyes and whatever she saw there made reach out and squeeze his hand again. Her touch broke him from the vision, but not before he'd seen enough to make him long to hold that man's beating heart in his fist. "Hey, it's no big deal, Loki. It's all right, I promise. I'm just sorry I answered the door in such a crappy mood. He only left a couple minutes before you got here and I thought he'd come back. It's a shame you missed seeing my tae kwon do skills in action, though," she added, eyes twinkling. "Maybe you'd think twice before teasing me in the future."

Loki's fingers twitched, longing for his knives. "It is far from _all right._ Do not apologize," he murmured, and put his wineglass down before he accidentally crushed it in anger. A bruised groin, black eye and broken nose? Those would be the least of his worries when Loki found him. He had thousands of years of experience in the finest arts of pain, both giving and receiving, and he would enjoy making the worm beg for mercy.

No one, _no one_ touched Taryn without her permission.

He looked down at her hands so delicate in his, saw the one that was beginning to swell along the knuckles, and raised it to his lips. A soft breath blown across the bruised flesh carried a healing spell that immediately returned her skin to its pristine state. Another offered her peace and calm, but only if she accepted it–unlike the bastard he would be visiting later, Loki would never force anything upon her.

When her hands finally stopped trembling in his, he knew she'd accepted what he'd offered. Her show of trust helped him begin to calm his own raging emotions. "I also wish I'd gotten here earlier. I would have enjoyed teaching him the consequences for mistreating a lady–although you clearly did not need to be rescued," Loki added with genuine admiration. She was not a natural fighter, but she'd taken those self-defense classes at his urging–as his feelings for her had grown, so had his fears. Compared to the Æsir, she was so fragile, so breakable, so _mortal_. And now her hard work had paid off. "I'm proud of you," Loki said, looking deep into her eyes so she'd see how much he meant it. "To use a Midgardian phrase, you kicked his ass quite satisfactorily."

She looked up at him with a smile and suddenly leaned in close and kissed him on the cheek. It was over before he could react–soft lips, sweet breath, teasing brush of her hair across his sensitive throat–and Loki was glad he'd put the glass down because he was positive he'd have crushed it from the jolt of reaction that shot through him. Such a simple touch, and now he burned hotter than the fire he'd kindled. "Thank you, Loki," Taryn murmured, her warm gaze holding his captive, and his heart felt far too large for his chest.

"Do you still wish to dance?" he asked abruptly, the words falling from his lips before he knew entirely what he intended to say.

She shook her head. "You're sweet to offer, but no. It's a bit too late to go out now anyway," she replied. Then she smiled. "Besides, I know how much you hate crowds."

It was true, Loki had always hated to spend his limited time with her in such places. He had so little time in her company and he didn't want to share those precious hours with anyone else. But he rose to his feet and held out his hand to her because they didn't have to leave in order to dance, and he needed to hold her right now.

"You are dressed to dance," he pointed out, and cast another spell that clothed him in his usual finery–leather and gold interwoven into royal armor, sleek black leather pants, tall boots, all of it capped by a flowing green cape–before she could reply. Another flicker of magic turned her radio on. Norah Jones's sultry voice filled the room like velvet as she implored her lover to come away with her. "And now I am as well. Will you really pass up the opportunity to learn some Æsir dances?" he added, holding out the prospect of knowledge to break her resistance.

It worked, as he'd known it would.

_"Wow,"_ she breathed, awe in the word as she stared at him, and Loki savored her obvious appreciation. "That is so cool." She was smiling now, her eyes full of wonder at these little tricks–how his heart swelled at her admiration, when he so often received mockery for such things! "Put it like that and you know I can't refuse."

That was what he'd been counting on. She let him pull her to her feet, then into his arms. One last spell, this one cast upon himself to ensure he didn't embarrass himself with the primal effect her nearness had on him, and Loki began to dance with her, leading her in a simple rhythm that wouldn't require much of his concentration–he wanted to use it all on soaking up the feel of her in his arms. After only a few moments, she briefly rested her head on his shoulder and sighed with contentment. "I'm so glad you came tonight, Loki," she murmured, and he closed his eyes and wanted so damn much it hurt. "How long can you stay?"

"Not long enough," he replied, speaking the truth–it was never long enough, never enough time to sate his longing for her. She lifted her head, disappointment writ large on her face. "I've only managed to sneak a few hours."

She made a visible effort to hide her dismay at his answer. And perhaps it was perverse, but he found knowing that she was just as upset by the shortness of his visit as he was strangely comforting. "Lots going on in Asgard?"

He smiled without humor. "We're in some rather heated negotiations with Alfheim," he replied, and that was also true, although he didn't feel the need to enlighten her that those negotiations were intended to end with him wedding one of their princesses to ensure a lasting peace. He would never agree to such a thing–his heart was Taryn's, even if she didn't know it, and he would never wed another while there was the remotest chance that she might one day return his regard–so there was no point in mentioning it to her. "Also the dwarves are once more attempting to steal territory from their neighbors, our allies. They seem to enjoy picking fights they cannot win. The All-Father is set on avoiding another war this time, however, and wishes to resolve the issue diplomatically."

"And of course your silver tongue is needed to pave the way," she said, and it wasn't a question but he nodded anyway.

"It does rather help to avoid war when at least one person at the table can think a bit beyond the level of _let's hit that annoying idiot with an axe_," he said dryly, and smiled when she laughed. "And you? Anything exciting in your world?"

Taryn laughed again, this time ruefully. "All of my excitement happened tonight." Then she gasped and spun around, looking for her cell phone. "Oh, I forgot to call the police and report it! I'll be in so much trouble if Randall files charges against me first–"

"I will take care of that," Loki interrupted smoothly, pulling her back into his embrace and segueing smoothly into another dance.

"How?" she asked worriedly, then laughed when Loki simply raised an eyebrow. The answer to that was too obvious to speak. "God, I wish I had magic," Taryn sighed. "I'm so jealous."

Loki chuckled at the irony of it. In Asgard, his use of magic was a matter of shame, ridicule, disgust–a man choosing to study the mystic arts was bad enough, but his easy command of it, his innate skill with spellweaving brought dishonor upon the entire royal family. Unheard of, for a prince to use such power instead of relying solely on steel! How wonderful it would be to live in a realm where the power that was as much a part of him as his blood and bones was something to be envied, not decried–he could hardly imagine it. "What would you do with it?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Taryn smiled but didn't immediately answer. He liked that she thought about it–if he were to touch her mind right now, he was positive she'd be weighing outcomes, thinking of all the possibilities before she answered. Then she laughed. "Well, I'd definitely use it to find better guys to date."

Loki shook his head. That was one use of magic he didn't want to think about. "You don't need magic for that. Merely patience."

She raised an eyebrow. "One day my prince will come?"

Even he caught that reference and he forced his smile to be easy, relaxed. "He will," Loki assured her, the cape that marked him Second Prince of Asgard swirling around them as he spun with her, holding her, wanting her, _loving_ her. "You merely need to recognize it when he does."

.

**... this was supposed to be the end of this. It's not. Silly plot-bunnies!**


	2. Taryn's tale

**The same scene from a different viewpoint, because Taryn pointed out that I'm didn't get into her head AT ALL during the first part of her and Loki's story. Also because I do what I want. And because Hiddles, too. So there.**

**.**

Taryn's feet pointedly told her that they'd had quite enough of her pacing, thank you very much, and if she didn't knock it off they'd retaliate with a cramp attack she wouldn't enjoy at all. She scowled at the stilettos but gave in to the not-so-subtle hints her feet were sending her and flopped down on the recliner.

"Bastard," she growled as her skirt flew around her with the sudden movement, but that wasn't enough. She tried harder. "Bastard ass-clown fuck-monkey shit-head!"

Better.

Normally she wouldn't use such language, but she hadn't been stood up for a date since college–the college she'd attended, not the one where she taught, just to be clear. And if it was a choice between wallowing in hurt feelings or turning the air blue with profanity, well, she'd always liked blue.

Actually, she liked green better, she mused, smoothing the skirt down over her thighs. This green tank-dress was a sexy little number, fitted across the bodice and waist, flaring out at her hips and ending high on her thighs. It wasn't every thirty-something who could wear a dress like this, especially with gold stilettos, and she'd been quite pleased with her reflection when she'd gotten ready for tonight's date. Red hair swinging free about her shoulders, light brown eyes sparkling with anticipation, legs seeming to go for miles–yes, thirty-something college professor or not, Taryn knew she looked damn hot and she liked the feeling.

But nine o'clock had come and gone, and so had ten, and any second now her old grandfather clock would start to chime eleven. All with no sign of the aforementioned bastard ass-clown fuck-monkey shit-head who'd asked her to go dancing.

She shouldn't have agreed in the first place. It wasn't a good idea to get involved with those she worked with. She knew that, had known it even then, but she'd said yes anyway. Randall Fosse was new at the university, by all reports a brilliant mathematician, intelligent, elegant, attractive and quite popular with the coeds. She'd been flattered that he'd sought her out, even though she was well aware that her own hotness rating on RateMyProfessor .com was pretty high, too.

But mostly she'd said yes because he'd reminded her, just a bit, of another tall, dark-haired, elegant, brilliant man.

Well, not _exactly_ a man.

Taryn sighed and thumped her head back against the chair. "You're an idiot," she told herself, and nodded in agreement with her own assessment. Yes, she was an idiot. Because apparently she couldn't be satisfied with the extraordinary luck of having the Norse God of Lies and Mischief for a friend. No, she had to want more. "Keep dreaming, girl. He's so far out of your league, you're not even in the same galaxy."

Something that was quite literally true right now. She hadn't seen Loki since he'd brought his brother to meet her during his last visit. Now that had been a crazy day. It had started as a typical Sunday morning, sleeping late, two cups of coffee and maybe a movie in the afternoon, and suddenly there had been not one, but two gods on her porch. Thor had even brought Mjolnir with him. She'd spent the day feeding the blond God of Thunder an inordinately large amount, hearing him tell tales of his battles and triumphs, attempting to keep her jaw from dropping and her eyes from popping out with wonder, and trying to figure out why Loki was sulking at the table instead of joining in the conversation.

Frowning now, she blew out a deep sigh. Loki had said he'd come back and he'd never broken a promise to her. In fact, even in mythology, the God of Lies was well known to never break his word, which was just one of the many ironies that so fascinated her about him. But two months had passed without a word and honestly, she was beginning to worry that whatever she'd done to offend him during that visit with Thor–and she _still_ had no idea what that could've been–had ended their friendship permanently.

The thought of never seeing Loki again, never matching wits with him, never scrambling to keep up with his brilliance, never laughing at his mischief–the fear had been gnawing at the back of her mind for weeks now, depressing as hell and impossible to banish. So yes, she'd agreed to go out with Randall, breaking her own rule of never dating anyone from the university, knowing deep inside that she was using him as a stand-in for someone with whom he could never compare.

And he'd stood her up. Talk about adding insult to injury.

She was about to embark on another profanity-laden description of his lack of character (although she wasn't sure she could top _fuck-monkey_) when the doorbell rang. "Oh, you _have_ to be kidding me," she growled, getting to her feet–and damn, beauty hurt when it involved balancing on five-inch daggers–and going to the door.

She looked through the peep-hole. Sure enough, Russell stood in the circle of light cast by her porch lamp, smiling as if utterly assured of his welcome. "Hey, babe, open up!" he called–he'd probably heard her heels clicking on the entryway tile. "It's time to have some fun!"

Taryn slowly and deliberately unlocked the door. No way in hell was she going out with him now–bad enough to show up two hours late, worse to act like it wasn't a big deal. Like she should be happy to wait for him and feel honored that he'd decided to finally show up. No, no, and more no, but she would enjoy showing him what he'd lost out on by being an insensitive dick. This dress hugged her curves in all the right places and she hadn't spent so much time on her hair and makeup for nothing.

Let the bastard see exactly what he now had no chance at!

When she opened the door, Randall did a doubletake. "Whoa, baby," he said, whistling low as he looked her up and down, just shy of leering. "Lookin' pretty damn hot there! I should call you Professor Sex-ayyy! You ready to have a good time?"

She didn't bother returning the once-over. Didn't care what he was wearing. "I was," she said, voice icy. "Two hours ago."

He pouted, then gave her a wink and a grin. Did he really think that was charming? "Sorry, baby, I got sidetracked," he said, and was she imagining a little slur to his words? "But I'm here now and you've got me all to yourself."

Nope, not imagining it–he was drunk. That was beyond insulting. "I'm not your _baby_," Taryn informed him coldly. "And I'm not interested in having you all to myself, nor am I going anywhere with you. You're drunk, Randall. Now go home before you embarrass yourself further." And she started to close the door in his face.

"Hey, no, wait a sec!"

For a drunk man, he had pretty good reflexes. Randall got a hand around the door and a foot wedged in the frame before she could slam it closed, and he pushed it back open. "C'mon, Tare, I'm sorry, okay? You look so hot and we don't have to go out, know what I mean?"

He reached for her and she slapped his hand away. The first tickle of alarm ran down her spine. "You need to leave," Taryn repeated firmly. "Right. Now."

Randall suddenly shoved the door, throwing it wide open and knocking her off-balance. He caught her around the waist when she stumbled and dragged her against him. "You came out here looking so good, I just have to kiss you," he said, and Taryn barely got her hand up in time to block his lips.

"Let me _go!"_ she shouted, shoving at his shoulders.

He laughed. "Playing hard to get, eh? I like that!"

And now she was pissed. How had she ever thought this dickhead resembled Loki? This time Taryn didn't bother trying to get free. Instead she twisted in his arms and simultaneously stomped her heel down on his instep and dug a thumb into his eye, hard.

Randall howled with the unexpected pain. Both hands flew to his eye and Taryn stumbled away from him. But before she could dive into the house and lock the door, he grabbed her wrist, and the lessons drilled into her mind in the tae kwon do classes Loki had talked her into taking echoed through her mind.

_Don't fight fair. Fight to win. Put your attacker down and make sure he stays there._

When he yanked her toward him again, Taryn used the momentum to make her right hook to his nose that much harder. Her hand exploded with pain as something crunched–she really hoped it was his nose and not her knuckles. He let go of her wrist to clutch his wounded nose, but she wasn't done. She drove her knee into the big muscle of his thigh with all her strength, watched him collapse, and finished up by slamming one of her five-inch golden stilettos straight into his groin.

He screamed like a girl and Taryn ran back into her house, slammed the front door, and threw all the locks.

"Why did you _do_ that?" Randall sobbed, curled up in the fetal position, cupping his crotch, nose bleeding. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"You're drunk," she shouted through the door. "And if you're not off my porch in sixty seconds, I'm calling the cops. Get out of here and don't come back!"

She stared through the peep-hole long enough to see him crawl back to his car, then moved to the window to watch him drive unsteadily away. Her entire body shook with reaction. She'd never been in a fight before–never! Loki's face rose in her mind, convincing her to take self-defense classes, deftly persuading her to give in when she'd tried to decline. And oh, but the Silvertongue could persuade the sun that it was the moon if he chose. She smiled a little–she'd never stood a chance.

She would have to thank him for that if she ever saw him again.

Taryn sank back down onto the recliner, arms wrapped tight around herself, cell phone clutched in one hand. If he came back, she'd just call the cops. In fact, she should probably do that anyway. The man had assaulted her and while she'd prevented herself from getting hurt, she'd injured him for sure. If he called the cops first, she could be in serious trouble.

Sighing, she lifted the phone and started to dial 911.

The ringing of the doorbell stopped her. For a moment, Taryn just stared, utterly flabbergasted. Then rage, pure, burning rage flared in her veins and she all but stomped to her front door, growling, "Are you really so stupid that you came back for more? You think I won't really call the–"

_Cops_, she was going to say, but when she looked through the peephole, the tall, dark, elegant man waiting on her porch wasn't Randall Fosse.

Taryn fumbled with the chain and deadbolts, then threw the door open. "Loki!" she gasped, staring at the god standing before her in a dark button-down and black slacks. Had her thoughts actually summoned him? "It's you!"

One perfect black eyebrow rose as he gave her a little bow. "I certainly hope you were expecting someone else, or I'll have to wrack my brain for how I've wronged you."

Taryn laughed. Never in a million years could she imagine Loki behaving the way Randall had. "Oh, Loki, you're the only man I know who has never done anything to piss me off," she said, and then welcomed him with her usual hug.

It felt so good to lean against his strength, especially now when she was still so shaken. He was solid in her embrace, comforting, far stronger than any human, yet so gentle as he returned her hug. "Man?" he teased, and she laughed again even though the reminder that he was so far beyond her reach stung.

"How about the only male, then, oh mighty God of Mischief?" Taryn teased back to hide how much she didn't want to let him go, but she knew hadn't been as convincing as she would've hoped when he frowned.

But all he said was, "I'll allow that," and flicked her nose before letting her lead him into the living room. She smiled a little, imagining him checking out her rear view–like he would ever be so crass, but it was a nice thought. And sure enough, when she turned back to face him, his gaze was on her face, just as she'd anticipated.

She considered teasing him about knowing he wasn't a mere man because any man she knew would've taken the opportunity to ogle, but he spoke before she had the chance. Arms crossed over his chest, Loki said, "So, shall we discuss who has offended you and how, so that I may devise the appropriate method of retribution?"

Taryn bit her lip. Little as she wanted to give Randall another second of her mental time, Loki's offer was touching. "You're sweet, Loki," she said, reaching out impulsively and clasping his hand.

He shuddered in mock-disgust. "Never tell anyone else that. Warrior culture, remember? I'll lose all my cred."

She snorted–like anyone could look at Loki and not feel the aura of complete and utter _bad-ass_ that he projected at all times. He laughed too, but he didn't drop his questioning. "Come, now, I haven't eviscerated anyone is far too long, and I fear to lose my skills. I suspect a worthy cause awaits. Tell your god what's happened, my tender little mortal, and let me make it all better."

She laughed again–only Loki could make her laugh after the night she'd had. And the way he called her his mortal sent a shiver through her, even though she knew he was only kidding with her. Taryn forced her mind back to the present. "All right, as long as you stop calling me your tender little mortal. It makes me feel like dinner."

"You're stalling," Loki said, and Taryn reluctantly released his hand and entered the kitchen. No way would she get through this story without a drink.

She tried to blow it off one more time, though. "Just a stupid man being stupid," she said, but of course he wasn't satisfied by that. He was the only man–god–whatever she'd ever met who was as insatiably curious as she was, and she hadn't really held much hope that he'd let her get away with that. He kept prodding, each time a little more insistently, until finally she just gave in and told him everything.

And his reaction sent a whole different kind of shiver down her spine. When she told him that she'd had to fight her way out of Randall's unwelcome embrace, somehow, without moving a single muscle, Loki's entire demeanor changed. She'd never thought green eyes could be cold, but the fury in his gaze made her force back a shudder and his earlier teasing comment about not having eviscerated anyone recently didn't seem amusing at all anymore.

All right, so Taryn wasn't stupid, and she knew he was immensely powerful. Whether she called him a god or an alien or a magical genie, he wasn't anything that was confined by Earthly law or norms. It was just that she could so easily forget what that meant. Right now his power, his age, his _different-ness_ slapped her in the face with the force of Thor's hammer and she actually felt a moment's fear for Randall.

"Hey, it's no big deal, Loki," Taryn said hurriedly, hoping to return him to the easygoing mood he'd been in when he'd arrived. "It's all right, I promise. I'm just sorry I answered the door in such a crappy mood. He only left a couple minutes before you got here and I thought he'd come back. It's a shame you missed seeing my tae kwon do skills in action, though," she added, trying to make him smile again. "Maybe you'd think twice before teasing me in the future."

Loki's fingers twitched and she could almost feel him longing for a weapon. _Warrior culture, remember?_ she thought, and bit her lip. In his world, assaulting a woman was a crime punishable by the blood eagle, a form of torture so brutal it would've made Hannibal Lecter cry like a little girl.

"It is far from _all right,"_ Loki growled, his deep, beautiful voice laced with enough venom to wipe out a city. She was extremely glad that his anger wasn't directed at her. "Do not apologize." And he set his wine glass aside, lifted her throbbing hand in his, and blew a gentle breath across her aching knuckles.

Taryn's eyes widened as the pain immediately ebbed, the bruises vanishing without a trace. When she took a deep breath to thank him, she felt something else–another spell, surely, but one she could take or leave. It offered peace and calm to her shaken nerves. More magic, she thought, dazed by the casual way he displayed such power, but she trusted him and silently assented to the spell. God knew–_hah_–she could use a little calm right now.

She wondered if he'd also partaken of the spell because as soon as she felt the soothing effects hit, his shoulders also relaxed a bit. He squeezed her hands gently. "I also wish I'd gotten here earlier," he said, but now his voice was its usual beautiful, melodic self–dark chocolate and silk, smooth and utterly intoxicating. "I would have enjoyed teaching him the consequences of mistreating a lady, although you clearly did not need to be rescued. I'm proud of you." And he met her gaze, letting her see the truth of his words in his eyes. "To use a Midgardian phrase, you kicked his ass quite satisfactorily."

Her chest tightened at the look in his eyes and suddenly she just had to do it. Taryn didn't let herself think about it because she knew she'd chicken out if she did. Instead, she leaned swiftly forward and kissed his cheek, sitting back just as quickly. "Thank you, Loki," she murmured, wondering if she was blushing like the sunset right now as her lips tingled with the memory of impossibly smooth, cool skin.

"Do you still wish to dance?" he asked, his voice even, not even blinking–he showed no reaction to her kiss whatsoever, and suddenly she felt foolish.

Of course he hadn't reacted. He was a _god_. She needed to get her head on straight and start acting like the friend she was supposed to be, not making passes at him. "You're sweet to offer, but no. It's a bit too late to go out now anyway," she replied. Then she smiled. "Besides, I know how much you hate crowds."

But to her surprise, he didn't let it go. Instead he stood and looked down at her. "You are dressed to dance," he pointed out, and suddenly the air around him shimmered. Tiny points of green and gold light swirled and flared, tracing new outlines, and in the blink of an eye, his outfit morphed and changed. Some kind of ceremonial armor, perhaps–it was unlike anything she'd ever seen, green fabric and black leather and bright metal interwoven in a complex and elegant pattern. Intricately engraved golden bracers covered his forearms, and a long, emerald green cape swept back from matching golden plates on his shoulders. Black leather hugged his long legs and disappeared into knee-high boots. A flick of a finger turned on her sound system. "And now I am as well. Will you truly pass up the opportunity to learn some Æsir dances?"

Taryn tried hard not to gape, but damn, it was difficult. "_Wow._ That is so cool," she said breathlessly, eyes wide, wondering if she sounded as utterly blindsided as she felt. Had she thought he looked good in normal clothing? Standing before her now in this finery, utterly alien and so handsome her heart might leap right out of her chest at the sight of him, Taryn had never imagined any man could be so compelling. "Put it like that and you know I can't refuse."

He smiled as she placed her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. The light pressure of his hand at her waist seemed to burn through the dress. Taryn relaxed quickly, though–Loki had the masculine grace of a panther and was unsurprisingly a wonderful dancer, his lead easy to follow. "I'm so glad you came tonight, Loki," she said softly, briefly giving in to the urge to lean her head against his chest. Mmm, the scent of leather and magic, something so uniquely him. "How long can you stay?"

"Not long enough," he replied ruefully, and she looked up, disappointed. Sometimes he stayed for days at a time, turning her boring world into a whirlwind of laughter and fun and mischief. "I've only managed to sneak a few hours."

A few hours? Her heart sank with disappointment, but she pushed the feeling away quickly. "Lots going on in Asgard?" she asked, but what she was thinking was_, he's so busy and he still found time to visit me…_ Even though she'd hoped for more, knowing that he'd done so made her feel much better.

"We're in some rather heated negotiations with Alfheim," he replied with a humorless smile that immediately piqued her curiosity, but he didn't elaborate. "Also the dwarves are once more attempting to steal territory from their neighbors, our allies. They seem to enjoy picking fights they cannot win. The All-Father is set on avoiding another war this time, however, and wishes to resolve the issue diplomatically."

"And of course your silver tongue is needed to pave the way."

He nodded. "It does rather help to avoid war when at least one person at the table can think beyond the level of _let's hit that annoying idiot with an axe_," he said dryly, and Taryn laughed, imagining Thor sitting at one of those negotiations. Even a single afternoon spent with Loki's overwhelming brother was enough to know that he would be worse than useless at a peace summit. "And you?" Loki asked. "Anything exciting in your world?"

Taryn laughed again, shaking her head. "All of my excitement happened tonight." Then she gasped and spun around, looking for her cell phone. "Oh, I forgot to call the police and report it! I'll be in so much trouble if Randall files charges against me first–"

"I will take care of that," Loki interrupted smoothly, pulling her back into his embrace and segueing smoothly into another dance.

"How?" she asked, and realized just how stupid that question had been when Loki simply raised an eyebrow. He'd shown her several spells tonight–the obvious answer was right in front of her. "God, I wish I had magic," Taryn sighed. "I'm so jealous."

He chuckled. "What would you do with it?"

Oh, now there was a question! She didn't answer right away–if there was one thing she'd learned about Loki, it was that he rarely asked anything idly. He would learn something from her answer. She just needed to decide how much of her inner thoughts she wanted him to see.

In the end, she decided just to deflect. "Well, I'd definitely use it to find better guys to date." That should be safe enough. The last thing she wanted was to expose her feelings for him and possibly make him uncomfortable enough to leave. _Out of your league, girl,_ she reminded herself sternly. _Light-years out of your league._

But although she'd been going for humor, Loki didn't seem very happy with that answer. "You don't need magic for that," he told her. "Merely patience."

It sounded like something her mother would've said, rest her soul, but that advice wasn't as comforting at thirty-four as it had been at twenty. "One day my prince will come?" Taryn returned, and she was glad it didn't come out as sarcastic as it had been in her head. _My prince has already come,_ she thought sadly,_ and he's my best friend._

His face eased and she knew he'd caught the reference to the Disney movie. "He will," he told her, smiling now. "You just need to recognize it when he does." And then he was twirling her, spinning, making her dizzy, making her laugh, making her forget to dig for any deeper meaning in his words.

.

**Yes, RateMyProfessor. com is a real website, and in addition to asking questions about the class itself, they really do ask students to rate their professors' hotness. Also, fuck-monkey is currently one of my favorite insults. Admit that it is awesome. You know you want to. **

**Enough reviews and I'll write out Loki's encounter with Randall. Yes, that was shameless and blatant, and I'm not sorry. _*runs away cackling madly*_**


	3. Randall's Tale of Woe!

**This little fic was supposed to be about 3 pages and that was it. Now it's three frickin _CHAPTERS_. *shakes head* Like so many things I've written, it's taken on a life of its own! Now, who wants to see Loki kick Randall's ass? Show of hands!**

_***counts***_

**… nope, not enough of you. _*waits*_ Oh, there's someone else in the back. Okay, that works. Good that you finally put your hand up back there. I was gonna walk away.**

**(This is how my brain behaves at 2am when I'm working. Aren't you glad you got this glimpse into my insanity?)**

.  
Loki hadn't wanted to leave Taryn's house an instant before he absolutely had to, but he had a little errand to complete before he returned to the peace summit with the dwarves. His lips curved into a smile as sharp as a thrown blade–this particular visit would have nothing at all to do with peace.

A certain man needed a lesson in the consequences of treating Taryn Roswell with less than complete respect.

The night was just starting to give way to the first hints of dawn when he found the place he was searching for. Randall Fosse lived in a stucco duplex with a yard badly in need of a trim and his car parked haphazardly across the driveway. Loki would've preferred something a bit more secluded, but he'd worked with even less privacy than this before. A quick spell sealed the perimeter of the building, ensuring his prey wouldn't escape, followed by another that would muffle any untoward sounds Randall might make.

Only then did Loki walk up to the front door, unlock it with a touch, and slip inside to look around as his full armor materialized, replacing the casual Midgardian clothing.

The dark rooms were already wrecked. Loki frowned, wondering if someone had beaten him here, before realizing that the debris all over the floor was a result of the man's apparent inability to locate his own trash can. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. He'd known monsters in the deepest reaches of Helheimr who lived better than this.

He didn't have to look far for his quarry. Randall lay curled up on the couch, snoring like a bear, knees drawn up and hands clasped between his thighs to protect his abused parts even in sleep. Loki could have laughed–Taryn must've put some serious muscle into that kick.

But then he thought of why she'd had to do so and his brief moment of humor faded. Loki lifted one end of the couch with one hand and effortlessly dumped the mortal onto his disgusting floor. He landed in an undignified sprawl with an even more undignified yelp of shock. "Time to wake up, Randall Fosse," Loki purred, dropping the couch and clearing a path to his prey with the wave of a hand–he was a prince, after all, and he would not tread on garbage. "I have a matter to discuss with you."

Randall tried to spring to his feet but slipped on an old pizza box and flopped back down. "Who the hell are you?" he sputtered, crab-crawling backward to put some space between himself and Loki before trying to get to his feet again. "What are you doing in my house? Get out!"

"Believe me, there is little I would like better than to leave your hovel," Loki assured him, letting all his distaste show on his face and in his voice. "However, our business is not yet done. Stand, man, meet me on your feet at least," he snapped in exasperation when Randall tripped yet again when trying to stand up. "Attempt to show some dignity!"

Randall finally managed to get up, legs trembling as he finally stood and attempted to glare at Loki. Unfortunately he was still at least partially drunk–he swayed alarmingly and his smell was unpleasantly reminiscent of Volstagg the morning after a bender. "You'd better get out of here before I beat the shit out of you," Randall said, but the threat was delivered in a trembling voice that utterly failed to intimidate. "What the hell is that outfit, anyway? Get out!"

Loki sighed and brushed an imaginary speck of lint off his armor. "So unoriginal," he said, shaking his head. "I'd really hoped this would be more fun."

Then he flung out one hand, firing a wave of magic that slammed into Randall and smashed him against the far wall hard enough to crack the plaster. "Fun for me, that is," Loki added, smiling. "I doubt it would've been fun for you either way."

Randall's bloodshot eyes were wide now, fully awake and speeding toward sobriety. "Who are you?" he gasped, pinned to the wall with his feet two feet from the floor.

"Loki, Prince of Asgard," he replied, giving him the truth because it didn't matter anyway–no one would believe Randall if he named Loki as his attacker and said he'd been beaten up with magic.

"Loki of–" If anything, the man's eyes went wider. "You mean like the trickster god?"

Loki raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. It was always so gratifying to be remembered, especially in this modern world. "Exactly like that." He watched Randall struggle against the invisible hold, his panic growing when everything he tried had no effect whatsoever. "More importantly for you, I am a very good friend of Taryn Roswell."

"Oh, shit," Randall breathed, and Loki nodded.

"Quite."

This wall was boring. Loki made a fist and threw his arm in another direction. The magic ripped Randall from that wall, slammed him into another. A framed diploma shattered on impact and fell, hitting his forehead before landing on the cluttered floor. "That looked important," Loki mused, and incinerated it with a snap of his fingers. Randall whimpered and Loki shot him an incredulous look. "Oh please, I've barely done anything to you and you're already crying? Did you actually have balls before Taryn kicked you?"

"Don't hurt me, please!" Randall begged, and Loki grimaced at the tears running down the man's cheeks. "It was just a, a misunderstanding, okay? She way overreacted–I wasn't gonna, you know, do anything to her, I swear! Okay? I'm not like that! Please, man, don't–"

"For Bor's sake, be silent!" Loki snapped, utterly disgusted. "If all humans are as weak as you, I hold little hope for this realm." Randall shut up but his silence was marred by little hiccupping sobs that grated on Loki's nerves like sand in a wound. He started to step closer but a drift of garbage blocked his way. Curling his lip, Loki instead flung Randall with magic again, this time pinning his back to the ceiling, face inches from the blade of his ceiling fan.

Then he walked over and looked up at the mewling, trembling man above him. He shook his head in disgust. "You know, I had planned to spend some quality time with you," Loki told him. He drew one of his daggers and held it up so Randall could admire the blade. "Just you, me, and this. But I would not soil my blade with your blood lest it weaken from your influence. I have never met a more unworthy foe."

"Yeah, that's right, I'm way unworthy!" Randall agreed immediately. Loki let him fall face-first onto the floor, then slammed him back into the ceiling.

"You _don't_ agree with that! By Yggdrasil, if you had any pride, you'd try to kill me for saying such a thing!" Loki couldn't believe how far the human race had fallen. "Do you have no sense of honor at all?"

Randall held out his hands in a gesture of supplication. "Look, man, I'm just a mathematician," he said pleadingly. "I don't want to fight to the death or defend my honor or whatever. I just don't want you to cut me up into little pieces, okay?"

Loki shook his head. This wasn't going how he'd planned at all, and for him, that was a novelty. Finally he dropped the man on his face again, releasing him from the magic altogether. "Get up," he spat. Randall scrambled to do so, wiping tears, snot, and blood from his face with his tee-shirt as he did. Loki was beginning to wish he'd just killed the bastard without ever waking him. "You want to live, do you? Honor or no honor?"

Randall nodded frantically. "Yes. Please, don't hurt me any more!"

Loki flicked a finger in his direction and sent him sprawling onto the couch again. "Then know this–if you so much as breathe in Taryn's direction again, I will return and teach you how the Æsir deal with cowards who try to force themselves on women. Do you understand me, you insignificant creature? She is under my protection. If I have to have this discussion with you again, you will not get off so lightly."

Randall looked for an instant like he wanted to argue that getting thrown around his living room, breaking walls, slamming into his ceiling and falling onto his face–twice–didn't equal _lightly_ to him, but he thought better of it and nodded silently.

Loki nodded once. He felt filthy, defiled from just having dealt with this weakling. "Just to give you a little incentive to keep your word, because I have the impression that your word means less than nothing to you," he said, "I am going to give you a little homework. Do a little research on the blood eagle so you will know what awaits you if I have to return. Do you understand?" Randall nodded frantically, again not daring to speak, and Loki had reached his limit. "Good. Pray that we don't meet again, Randall Fosse."

He turned and retraced his steps to the door, which magically opened for him. Then he turned and snapped over his shoulder, "And for Bor's sake, clean up after yourself!"

Randall watched the stranger in green vanish into thin air. The spreading wetness in his crotch was the final proof that he hadn't dreamed it, as if the man-shaped dents in his walls and ceiling weren't enough. It was a long time before he dared to move, and the first thing he did was to slam his front door and double-bolt it, then shove his recliner in front of it, too.

Just in case.

Then he went to his office, turned on his laptop, and googled _blood eagle._

Wikipedia had an immediate response. _The Blood Eagle was a method of torture and execution that is sometimes mentioned in Nordic saga legends. It was performed by cutting the ribs of the victim at the spine, breaking the ribs so they resembled blood-stained wings, and pulling the lungs out through the wounds in the victim's back. Salt was sprinkled in the wounds…_

That was as far as he got before he vomited on his computer and fainted.

Two things were certain, Randall thought when he finally came to, face stuck to his shorted-out laptop with dried puke and a distressing smell rising from his damp pants. He had no desire to ever cross Loki of Asgard again.

And from now on, he would treat every single woman like a freaking _queen_.

.

**Well that… didn't go _quite_ like I thought it would! But Loki was so grossed out by this guy's sheer wimp factor that he told me, "I'm not punching him. It would be a humiliating waste of fist. It'll be more fun for me to make him puke, piss himself****, faint****and ****without even touching him. Watch." Ahh, Loki, you bad-ass motherfucker, you.**

**By the way, the bit at the end is a quoted passage from Wikipedia. Yep, the blood eagle, it is not nice. Doncha just love ancient tortures? Their only concerns regarding cruel and unusual punishment was to make it every bit as cruel and as deeply unusual as they possibly could. **


End file.
